Waiting For Nothing

Chapter 2: Meeting You Again Might Just Kill Me

Chapter 2: Meeting You Again Might Just Kill Me

I stood in front of the body mirror in my room staring at my outfit with distaste. I had chosen something simple; denim shorts, a plain grey v-neck, and sandals. I wanted to remain cool throughout the day without dying from the heat.

Slinging my hobo bag over my shoulder, I walked out of my room after I stuffed my phone into my back pocket, and then made my way downstairs. The old steps in the house creaked as I quietly made my way downstairs and to the door.

My mom stopped me before I could leave unnoticed. "Honey, don't forget your keys." Oh I guess I forgot to mention something. My parents were wealthy, but they didn't flaunt it. Our house was a simple two story house that looked like something out of a book. Sure it was spacey, but the biggest space was the backyard which was absolutely gorgeous with all the flowers strewn about it.

My mom worked as a lawyer for this major law firm, and my dad was a professor at the state university. He majored in the arts. The two of them were complete opposites and it showed. For some reason even though they were completely different, they were always in sync with eachother. But that was until my mom found out that my dad had a short affair with a student of his and let's just say that that's one of the reasons why I had to move back.

Anyways, my parents thought that buying me a car would make me happy. Remember when I told you that they didn't like to flaunt their wealth? Well this one of those reasons. They bought me a beat up, old pick up. It was an 87 chevy silverado and even though it was old there was major potential in it. I'll probably occupy myself with it and finding a job.

Sighing loudly, I turned and trotted into the kitchen grabbing my keys off the counter. I had just planned to walk to school because walking was mind-calming. Sure I liked driving, but it just felt weird sometimes.

Glancing up at my mom I noticed that she was waiting for something. I shrugged and hugged her. Once I hugged her I felt her tense up under my touch; she was never one for affection. How she had two kids, I'll never know. I backed away and walked out of the house, hearing her tell me to have a good day.

Once I got into my truck, I threw my bag onto the passenger side of the bench seat. Despite it's appearance, the interior was really nice. It was easy to tell that the dashboard and seats were recently redone. The steering wheel looked well worn in, which was actually nice. For some reason, I think that if I had recieved a brand new truck, I wouldn't have felt as comfortable with it as I feel with this one.

After I turned it on and drove off, I felt a rush of nervousness run through me. I sat at a red light and drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, biting my lip out. Once the light turned green I dug my foot into the gas, causing the truck to shoot across the intersection. When in doubt, step it out. That's what my aunt had always told me. She said that driving and just running away from your problems was one of the most relieving things. If you just keep driving to God knows where, you usually end up in a place you thought you never would. Normally people would call that place, "Peace."

The school neared as I continued my way down the street. I felt every muscle in my bone tense up, as I turned into the parking lot. People glanced at me, no one really recognizing me. My hair used to be blonde but now it was a deep red. I currently wore it up in a bun.

To these people I was a new student; fresh meat. But now as I park my truck, I feel like at any second I'm going to be jumped. Getting out, I grabbed my bag that had my laptop in it.

Remember when I told you about my writing problem? Well, when it was broke, my wrist was literally torn out of place and a few of my nerves were shot. It's not limp or anything like that. When I write or move my fingers in a certain way, I just can't. My hand will go numb and all the words I try to write come out as nothing. So now I have to type notes, or homework with a laptop. Sure it sucks, but sometimes on good days I can write a sentence. When I first broke it and I was in recovery, I tried to write with my left hand, but I just couldn't.